Shades of Red
by The Fall
Summary: The Night Mother's puppet, she inflicts betrayal upon her allies on the Waterfront, finding sanctuary in the arms of the Dark Brotherhood. Torn between the thieves and the assassins, she finds that Lucien's heart is the last thing she will ever steal.
1. Prologue

The design upon the silver grew more defined under the pale of the moon, giving it impeccable beauty.

The only light came from the soft glow of the moon, streaming in through the open window. He inwardly grinned at how it made his blade shine; the woman gasped, seemingly entranced by its gleam, yet terrified by the realization that she was going to die by it. She looked into the assassin's eyes, taken aback by the coldness that resided in them.

The blade gleamed once more, then collided with her throat, gracefully invading skin and muscle. As the sweet, beautiful sound of flesh departing filled his ears, the grin became external; no matter how many times it was heard, it never ceased to send a hot sensation down his spine.

Gently, he placed her body on the floor, moving her limbs into a curved upwards position, as if she were flying; her lifeless corpse on the mahogany floor, blood seeping from her decapitation was a work of art. He reveled in such fancies.

He looked into the eyes of the woman, a lovely shade of blue, and set her head upon the bed in which she and her husband slept. He grinned at the thought; the man would be thrilled to learn of his wife's death; he was a satisfying costumer, indeed. Never had the assassin taken a contract that involved marital betrayal.

He gazed upon his masterpiece once more, hesitant to leave it; the blood and mahogany combination was simply beautiful.

Sighing at his forced abandonment, yet smirking at his success, he exited from whence he came, gracefully leaping out of the window and falling into shadow once again. In his wake, lying underneath the bed of betrayal, a child wept.

**

* * *

Author's Note: **_So, yeah. New story. I was planning to post when I'd gotten at least ten chappies done, but I got too impatient/eager to wait any longer. Like it? Should I continue? _


	2. One

Disturbingly brilliant crimson eyes gazed into her line of vision, mimicking every movement; she raised an annoyed brow at her reflection, cursing her Dunmer heritage. She was the same as all of her brethren: blue, red, purple, elven. Her appearance was hindering her from stealing the beautiful existence behind the glass window, stopping her from gaining her heart's desire.

Despite her constant attempts to blend in with society, she never succeeded in her thievery, not without being discovered before an escape; there was always a witness that remembered an azure hand reaching for the desired item. Yet the guards never caught her, due to her speed and ability to become one with the shadows, and bribes given to the authorities to forget of her crime.

She raised her gloved hands, eyes analyzing the dark leather that seemed to be evolving into a second skin. With a worn leather cuirass hiding her torso, hood over her head, accompanied with boots and greaves covering her lower half, she would not be seen today. Not when her motivation was this high; not when the object of her affection was before her, once again, tempting her to _take _it. Give it a proper home. Show it to the beggars and thieves on the Waterfront. Deem it proof that she was _worth_ something.

_Take me. _It seemed to be saying. _Love me. _

She did not know if it was indeed the object whispering in her ear, or if her sanity had left her, but that was deemed irrelevant. What was known was that she _needed _it.

Taking her eyes off of her desire, she casually walked into the shop; Rindir's Staffs, she recalled the sign saying. She tried her best to make the ruby irises seem innocent, but the attempt was futile.

The owner, a Bosmer, turned around, smiling at his fellow mer. "Greetings, Dunmer!" He said, voice unusually shrill and confident, "Welcome to Rindir's Staffs. My name is Rindir, may I ask you yours?"

"Um, Arcadia," Said she, shy before the stranger.

His smile widened. "What a pretty name. Tell me, is there anything here that catches your eye?"

The answer to that question was obvious; Arcadia longed for the mage's staff in the window, its blackened wood glistening in the sunlight.

She felt bad for having to steal from the man; he seemed to be an honest, giving person. But she was indeed penniless, and would not return home without that staff in her possession.

_Take me, _It begged. _Love me._

Instead of reacting to the almost inaudible voice whispering in her ear, which would not have been beyond the norm, she _listened _to it, as if entranced. "Yeah. That staff, over there….what kind is it?"

Rindir's eyes followed the gloved finger that was pointing toward the staff placed on a small pedestal, leaning against the window. "Oh!" He gasped, appearing to be as excited as she was about the arcane weapon.

"This," he began, "is the Apotheosis. It's a very powerful staff of Destruction, and also, very beautiful."

Arcadia nodded. "Beautiful, indeed. How much is it?"

"Five-thousand septims."

Arcadia refrained from gasping at the unbelievable price. "Oh, my," She began, creating a façade, "I only have two-thousand with me. I have more in my home; I shall return tomorrow with the proper amount of coin. Would you mind holding it for me, until then?"

Rindir frowned slightly, surprised that a woman of her appearance would have that kind of coin; he'd deemed her a common peasant when he first saw her, and was merely entertaining himself by portraying an outgoing merchant at her expense.

_She actually has money? _He thought, baffled. _Could have fooled me. She looks like she belongs on the Waterfront._

"Of course I'll hold it for you!" He said happily, having a façade of his own. "I can keep it for exactly twenty-four hours."

Arcadia inwardly smirked, eyes shining with mischief. "Oh, don't worry," She said, voice soft and misleading, "I'll have it before then."

She said her goodbyes to the Wood Elf, then exited the shop, fighting the urge to snatch the staff before the mer's very eyes.

_Take me, _It whispered, once again. _Love me._

The Dark Elf nodded, once again obeying the mystic voice. Indeed, her words to Rindir were true; she _would _have it before then.

Arcadia returned to the Waterfront, and awaited nightfall.

o.O.o

The vision, blurred around the edges, revealed a girl gazing into a large window, eyes filled with longing.

Before the vision was a spirit, a phantasm, staring at the girl with strict concentration, softly whispering words inaudible to the human ear.

Lucien stared at the sight in confusion, still wondering as to why he was there at all. He was the only audience to the Night Mother's spell, the vision that was being manipulated by her will.

Despite his confusion, he was joyful to be in the Night Mother's dwelling; it was not a place that every member of the Brotherhood was allowed, or even knew of its location. It was obvious that the Night Mother had deemed him important enough to invite him there. Still, he would not show his true feeling, not even to his leader; the mere thought of it was ridiculous.

As the girl in the vision entered a building, then exited, Lucien turned to his leader, his hood and the shadows cascading darkness across his face.

"Dear Mother," He began, deep voice echoing throughout the crypt, "Do not insinuate that I'm ungrateful by asking this, but…may I ask why I was summoned here?"

The vision faded away; the Night Mother lowered her hands, ending her spell. She turned to her Speaker.

"Dear child….." She paused, then continued, translucent body fading, then becoming whole again. "You were called here by me to fulfill the destiny that I have created for you."

She called forth the vision again, showing the girl walking through a crowd of pale faces; her blue elven skin stood out before the mass of white humans.

"This Dunmer is the answer to the Dark Brotherhood's plight," Informed the Night Mother. "You must find her, awaken her urge to kill….only then will she become one of us."

Lucien frowned. "She hasn't murdered anyone yet?"

"No. That is what makes her so rare. Her heart is not dark and cold like yours," The last words were said disdainfully, as if she meant it as a compliment towards Lucien and an insult to the girl, "But she is weak. She is a lowly peasant, a street rat, and she has not yet killed for survival simply because she was raised by the Thieves Guild, who look down upon killing."

Lucien scowled in disgust. "A thief? They're pathetic. The scum of the earth. Why would you want someone like _her _to be one of us?"

The phantasm sighed. "It is well known that the Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild disagree on the other's ways. They rob men of their possessions, and us, their lives. Such is our way. Once this girl-the apple of the Doyen's eye-takes a life, she will be cast aside, disowned. She will have nowhere to turn. And that…that is when you will take her, dear Lucien, and mold her into that of the Brotherhood's shape."

Lucien lowered his head, allowing the hood and shadows to hide his features completely. He wanted no part of this. Why should he, Lucien Lachance, be forced to find this lowly Dunmer _thief, _and remake her in his image? It was _stupid, _unnecessary….yet, he knew that the Night Mother was all-knowing, fully aware of the future. He knew that she would not stir him wrong. Behind the shadow, he scowled.

"This is what you must do." Said the Night Mother, voice growing feral, "I can sense your reluctance, and it angers me. You must obey me, or feel the wrath of my beloved."

Lucien, hearing the threat, immediately changing his expression. He would not break any of the Five Tenets, not while he was still breathing. The mere thought of invoking the Wrath of Sithis upon himself made him shudder; it was the only thing he feared.

"Forgive me, Mother," He said, once he calmed, "I will do as you ask. But I have questions. What did you mean by, 'the Dark Brotherhood's plight'? What has happened?"

"Do not question me. All will be learned in due time. Now, go. You are capable of doing this, which is why I chose you instead of my other children. Awaken the Dark Elf's coldness, and save the only world you know."

She turned her back on the assassin, and suddenly, he was alone, finding himself in the streets of the Imperial City.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_An anticipating update, no? Do you not want more? Haha. Read and review, pwease._


	3. Two

Night had shown itself; the stone walls of the Imperial City gleamed under the moonlight, giving it a celestial glow.

Lucien stood in the arms of shadow, unfazed by the beauty of nightfall. He ran his tongue roughly across his lips, dark eyes impatiently awaiting the arrival of crimson ones.

A few moments passed the assassin by; still, he was alone.

Sighing in annoyance, he gripped the hilt of his shortsword, its cold embrace calming him. _I shall murder tonight,_ He told himself. _This will all be worth the wait. _

Granted, he knew not of the life he would take; his victim's death would not fulfill a contract. This desire was merely for personal interest, as he had not been given a contract for far too long, in his opinion. As a Speaker of the Brotherhood, his duty was not to kill, but to recruit new murderers with potential, to inform those beneath him of a contract. Despite his success, he longed for death, his art. He did not care for killing without _true _purpose, to serve Sithis and send that addictive _chill_ down his spine; tonight, however, would be an exception.

The sight of azure skin, ebony hair, and ruby irises interrupted his thoughts; the grip around his shortsword tightened.

The girl, cloaked in shadow as well, stood alone in the deserted streets, before the closed entrance of Rindir's Staffs. She lifted a hand over the door handle, a soft golden light radiating from her hands. In the silence, he heard the soft click of a lock unraveling; she opened the door, slipping in as swiftly and gracefully as he would.

Lucien leaped from the roof of the building on which he was perched, robes rustling in the sudden wind.

Landing lightly on the balcony of the shop, he ventured to the Bosmer's bedroom window, seeing that it was slightly ajar; the curtains swayed lazily in the current of the wind. He placed his gloved fingers underneath the sill, lifting it with a great amount of force, the impact of its contact with the top of the window causing the sleeping elf to stir.

The assassin remained still, watching the mer awaken through the open window; he sat up, head turning toward the sound of the slam. He saw Lucien standing there, motionless, the cold darkness in his eyes seeming to stare into the mer's soul. He gasped, then screamed with every fiber of his being, eyes widened with fear; another crash was heard downstairs. Lucien licked his lips once again, softly, and slowly.

He then moved out of the Wood Elf's view, simply shifting towards the other side of the balcony. He lifted one arm above his head, and a shimmering green light cascaded over his body, hiding his presence. As soon as the spell was completed, Rindir threw his head out of the window, foolishly unarmed, searching for the man who'd terrified him; he found nothing.

The invisible man continued to stare at the Bosmer, his frantic panting music to his ears.

Once the mer became satisfied with his terror's disappearance, he withdrew his head from the window, deceived. He turned his head towards his bedroom door, remembering the crash that was heard beyond the four walls of his safe haven. He cautiously walked toward the door, opening it and entering the hallway. He stood at the top of his stairs, staring into the darkness below.

"Hello?" He called out, revealing his foolishness once again.

Arcadia froze, heart still pounding from the bloodcurdling scream that was heard only moments before.

She stood amongst the mass of shattered glass, eyes widened. Turning her head toward the sound, she stared upon the darkness that the staircase led to, saying nothing.

"Anyone there? Um, if you are…..get out, or I'll call the guards!" He yelled, yet again.

The Dunmer's eyes shifted toward the slightly ajar front door, her escape. She turned her body towards it, preparing to leave the scene and walk free of her crime.

As her mind made the decision to flee, she heard it again. _Take me. Love me._

Slowly, _cautiously_, she turned her head to her desire, protected by the case of glass that refused to fall victim to her spell.

Quietly walking over to it, she cast the golden light upon the lock again, but to no avail.

She scowled, cursing herself for not practicing her Alteration skills enough. She pulled a lockpick from her pocket, desperately invading the security device with the tool.

Lucien stood behind the shopkeeper, sneering at his astonishing stupidity. His idiocy was making his plan that of a novice's mission; his life was not worthy of being taken by him, but alas, it had to be done.

Rindir made his way down the stairs, the unseen son of Sithis behind him. As the click of a lock opening was heard, he entered the shop, moonlight betraying the Dunmer thief to him.

The Wood Elf, upon seeing his latest customer, gasped, pointing at her. "_You!_" He said, voice grave, tainted with disgust. "I should have known you had no money, Waterfront _scum!_ Guards, help! I'm being robbed! _Help_!"

Arcadia stood there, frozen once again, not noticing that the obstacle that ceased her from gaining her desire had been defeated. She opened her mouth to speak, to plead for mercy, when a sudden gleam of silver flashed before her eye, behind her accuser. Before she could react, blood was spewing from the mer's throat; his gasps for air and deliverance filled the room with misery, despair.

Arcadia's muscles tensed, heart beating out of time yet again. She watched helplessly as the Bosmer fell to his knees and died, blood painting the floor and nearby wall.

She did not scream, did not run; she merely stared at the lifeless corpse in utter _shock. _

Before she could succumb to the nausea that was brewing in the depths of her body, the sound of the door being slammed against the wall, heavy metal roughly clinking together was heard; she turned her head, only to be met with the furious eyes of the Imperial City Guards. They looked upon Rindir's dull existence, showing no emotion toward his death, yet scowling at the suspected murderer.

"Surrender, murderer!" Yelled one of the guards, "Or suffer the fate of your victim!"

Arcadia began to raise her hands in defeat, not able to find the voice that would claim innocence. Then, she heard it again.

_Take me, _It begged. _Love me._

Arcadia, despite her fear and confusion, nodded, obeying the whisper inside her conscience. She withdrew the staff from its cage, aiming it at her pursuers.

"No," She objected, voice dark and far beyond that of what she would say, if not entranced. "You won't take me alive!"

She then channeled her arcane energy from her body to the staff, firing electrical projectiles towards the guardsmen; with each one that fell, another came in their place, as they continued to call to their comrades for aid. Rindir's Staffs had become the possession of a massacre.

And, as the Dark Elf's life unraveled droplet by droplet, Lucien Lachance watched behind the cloak of magic, grin widening with every life the thief stole.


	4. Three

Adrenaline rapidly coursed through her veins, causing her to_ sprint_ down the abandoned road, the sound of metal fiercely clanking together further motivating her speed; there were even more of them, now. Their swords were raised, craving to taste her flesh, their vengeance becoming a wild beast that demanded for her blood. Imprisonment was no longer an option. Death was to be her punishment.

Clutching the staff in her hand, she let out a raspy cry, no longer feeling the dark influence that'd caused her to steal so many lives; it'd abandoned her, leaving her confused, afraid. And she was alone, fleeing the Imperial City guardsmen, defiant of the law.

An arrow suddenly whisked past her, barely missing its target. Her heart reacted to the sight, beating forcedly within her chest, as if demanding freedom from its cage. Despite the tears that were streaming down her face, blurring her vision, she could see the desired destination before her; rancid, murky waters, grime, pirate ships, diminished shacks. Home.

Still able to hear the sharp and unintelligible shouts behind her, she continued to run straight ahead, refraining from turning left to the entrance of the shore, in which she lived; she refused to be seen running from the authorities, not by her neighbors, her fellow thieves. Not by her father.

Ignoring the shocked expressions on the pirates' faces, she ran past them, seeing the end of the road just ahead of her, the water waiting for her below.

Her muscles burned as she forced her steps to quicken, her surroundings darkening, frantic heartbeat overshadowing the shouting and her own panting.

She ran even faster, seeing that the road was about to end; she held her arms out in front of her, and leaped off the ledge, body becoming airborne.

The water eagerly greeted her, engulfing her into its cold depths, and she winced in pain, insides already beginning to shrivel from lack of oxygen. She quickly channeled her energy into a spell, the soft golden light shimmering around her, and she could breathe, air flowing through her lungs as if she were on dry land.

Heart still pounding within her chest, she looked upward, seeing nothing due to the darkness of the water. She remained dormant underwater, waiting until the guardsmen would deem her dead; she hoped she seemed insane enough to commit suicide, for if she arose to the surface alive, she would be dead before she could blink. The archers had most likely taken frontal positions upon the ledge.

A few moments passed, and she cast the spell upon herself again, breathing in the artificial air.

Now calm, she pushed herself upward, swimming away from the Waterfront, the guardsmen. She continued to swim until the water became shallow, her hands making contact with moist sand. And she stood, running, not stopping until she was hidden in the cluster of trees and bushes that stood upon the land, fearful that her Dunmer skin would reveal her if she remained unhidden.

Eventually she left the bushes, feet kissing the shore once again. She squinted her eyes, searching for her pursuers, and under the moonlight she saw the glint of their armor, shining in the night.

She found herself immobile, unable to hide herself once again; to their misfortune, they could not see her, and so they left the Waterfront, the gleam of their armor fading with each step that was taken.

Arcadia released a breath that she had not realized she was holding. When she gathered the nerve, she strapped her staff to her back and returned to the Waterfront, refusing to meet the gazes of the pirates that'd seen the incident. She heard their taunts and laughter, but ignored them, longing to feel her father's comforting embrace.

She stepped foot on Waterfront's residential area, the small handful of shacks tarnishing the water's misleading sparkling surfaces. They all stared at her, the beggars and thieves; she looked away from them and made her way towards her home, noticing that her hands were trembling uncontrollably.

She opened the door, and walked in, meeting the warm brown eyes of Armand Christophe. He said nothing as she entered; he merely gave her frightened eyes and shaking hands a quick glance, then stood from his chair, waiting for her to speak, expression stern and unforgiving.

And she did speak, voice coming out as a low, wavering mewl. "Daddy," She whimpered, and his eyes softened; she had not called him that since she was a child of ten.

Armand walked over to his little girl, and held her in his arms; she buried her face as much as she could in his chest, weeping in their embrace. He held her tighter, their colored skin mimicking the joining of the earth and sea.

He shushed her. "It's all right, girl. I'm here. I'm here." And she cried even more at his words, knowing that he _was_ there, and always _would_ be there for her, yet she would not have been there for him after that night, had she not been quick and dexterous enough to elude the law's advances. Despite all of the thieves that resided in the Waterfront, Armand and Arcadia only truly had each other. And she'd almost ruined that.

"I'm sorry," She sobbed. "I….I almost got killed today. I would have left you all alone."

He shook his head. "It's okay, Arcadia. I'm just glad you're all right."

She pulled away from him then, wiping at her tears. "Then why weren't you out there with everyone else, waiting for me? Why did you look so mad when I came in?"

"You know I don't like it when you got caught. That's why I looked disappointed. But I wouldn't have if I knew you were this upset. What happened? You're soaking wet."

Arcadia lifted her head, silken ebony locks clinging to her skin, droplets combining with her own tears. He pulled a few strands away from her forehead, looking into her eyes. "Cadie?"

Arcadia sighed, sullenly. It was a nickname, one that Armand only used when he was trying to coax her. She complied, but only partly so. "I stole a staff."

He raised an eyebrow, eying the arcane weapon. "That's all? Really? With all the uproar you'd think you killed somebody."

The Dunmer girl stiffened; were she any other form of mer or human, her cheeks would be flushed.

Armand's eyes widened. "You….didn't kill anyone, did you?"

Her shame silenced her. His face twisted into a disgusted scowl. "You _know_ murder is against our ways, Arcadia. You're supposed to _run._"

She nodded pathetically, eyes drooped in remorse. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough. No item is worth someone's life, Arcadia. I thought I raised you better than that!"

She began to tremble again, all over. "I'm sorry. It's just….I…."

The faint whisper interrupted her. _Take me. Love me._

She closed her eyes, slowly, in denial of what she heard. She opened them, and continued. "I don't know what came over me. I wanted it so bad….I would have bought it, but it was too much. The….the Wood Elf Rindir…he just _died_. Someone slit his throat, but I didn't see…..and then the guards came. They thought I did it. But I wanted the staff so bad….and they-"

She stopped herself, in disbelief of what she was about to say.

"_They were in my way,_"

Armand shared her expression, eyes widened. "_In your way?_"

She nodded, then bit her lip, suddenly feeling unfamiliar with herself. _What am I saying?_

The Redguard shook his head, still in shock. "I can't believe this. When I found you, I never thought for one second that something like this would ever happen,"

He waited for her to respond. She said nothing.

He sighed. "We'll finish this later. Right now I need to have a talk with the Imperial Guard. Help them forget about this…..whatever this was."

He walked over to the chest by his bed, opening it, bringing forth a small bag that jingled when he placed it in his hands.

"I love you," He muttered, "And I'm glad you're okay. But this _can't_ happen again. Learn to run. You should already know how to do that, but I guess not. If you can't do that, then you're out of the Guild. I'm sorry."

And with that, he left, leaving the girl alone in the shack, the air suddenly cold in summer's first midnight.

Behind the wooden walls, Lucien sneered at the advice the Redguard had given his adoptive daughter, once again questioning the commands of his mother.


	5. Four

Eyelids slowly fluttered open, the dawn greeting blurred vision, growing brighter as her surroundings cleared. She released a raspy sigh, stale breath filling her senses; she gagged.

Absentmindedly reaching for the peppermints she kept on her nightstand, she noticed that the shack was empty, the crackling of the fireplace the only sound heard above her shallow breathing. Armand had not returned.

Arcadia sat up in her bed, tongue lolling around the candy as it spread flavor all over her mouth, the foul smell and taste that'd been formed in her sleep fading away. She ran a hand through her tangled hair, fingers combing through it, then stood up, still clad in the thief's gear she'd worn the night before.

Knowing it'd be warm outside, she removed her leather cuirass from her body, replacing it with her huntsman's vest, the small piece of "armor" covering her breasts and nothing more. It was something young mages and thieves wore, elves and humans alike. She would barely be noticed by anyone outside the Waterfront; they would dismiss her as a random, innocent teenager. Not a thieving murderer who steals possessions without a twinge of regret, who stole countless lives and slept soundlessly afterward without the slightest morsel of disturbance.

Arcadia cringed at her own thoughts, forcing herself to focus on dressing. She put on her leather jacket, leaving it unbuttoned. She never left the shack without wearing a long-sleeved shirt or a jacket. She was paler than most Dunmer, skin a light, vibrant blue. It made her more noticeable, especially in broad daylight. It was first seen as an inconvenience, given her devotion to thievery and stealth, but somehow it evolved into an insecurity. People had looked at her strangely when she bore an excess amount of skin, mainly her Dunmer brethren. She did not blame them; most of them had ashen skin, dark as midnight. Her pigmentation was not abnormal, simply rare. Arcadia loathed rarities; they caused people to stare in either awe or disgust. And she wanted neither the latter nor the former from her own race.

She left the shack, quickly, soundlessly. She knew they'd be waiting. The beggars and thieves feasted on gossip and tragedies, especially when it involved one of their own.

The door creaked as it closed; she cursed herself and the old wood silently, checking her surroundings. It was early; she was sure that the beggars were either asleep or gone to the city to panhandle, and the thieves that were awake were on the other side of the riverbank, talking. There was tremendous diversity in the group, male and female, old and young, elven and human. She saw Amusei and Damitrah, the only Argonians in the Imperial City portion of the Guild, having a morning swim in the river.

Arcadia sighed in relief, walking briskly in the opposite direction of them, making her way toward the Waterfront's archway. She was nearly there when she heard a faint rustling in the shrubbery behind her; she turned to see a womanly form before her, golden skin seeming to glow in the midst of the rising sun, auburn hair cascading down the tips of pointed ears and ending at the base of her tunic, caramel eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Cadie," Chimed the Bosmer, voice soft yet brash, "Just what do you think you're doing, leaving the Front without asking your best friend if she wants to come with first?"

Arcadia sighed, struggling to find words. "Sorry. I really just kinda wanted to be alone. Clear my head,"

Methredhel nodded silently, deciding not to remind the Dunmer of what happened the night before. She heard the shouts of the guardsmen as they all did, stood amongst the traitorous snickers and taunts as the sound of their armor clanking fiercely with concrete filled her ears, set her blood flow to a slow, cold stop. It was not a night she ever wanted to remember, and the memory wasn't even hers _to_ remember.

Methredhel exhaled inaudibly, caramel eyes connecting with crimson ones. "All right," She replied, simply.

Arcadia frowned slightly, taken aback by the Bosmer's sudden solemn demeanor. "Okay…." She coughed, hoping to break the sudden tension. "I'll be back in a while. I don't really know where I'm going."

The other elf nodded once more, sympathy radiating off her. She thought she could soothe the younger girl, console her, convince her that she was not ruthless, unfeeling. It was merely self-defense. Her hand was forced. Her life in exchange for theirs.

But Methredhel could say nothing as the girl moved further and further away from her, feet trudging along the cobblestone as if weighed down by the dead men themselves; Arcadia could barely walk without showcasing guilt, let alone speak of it. And Methredhel, who preferred to avoid angst and destruction, watched silently as her friend exited the Waterfront archway, onto the pier and out of her line of vision. It was better this way, for both of them.

"Cadie," whispered she, voice portraying grief and something unfamiliar to her, "I'm sorry."

And she turned, then, the two drifting in opposite directions, mentally and physically.

o.O.o

He'd followed her to the Chapel, teeth bared, body recoiling from the building as if by mere instinct. Never in his life had he been more disgusted than he was then.

_So she goes to the Nine to beg for forgiveness for her _sin,_ does she? _He sneered._ How pathetic._

Through slit eyes he studied the girl; she was wide-eyed, more than usual, standing before the massive doors that held redemption inside. Her hands gleamed under the morning sun, sweat running down her palms, her forehead.

Lucien grinned. _Ah, she's never been there before…._

He licked his lips, tongue grazing across skin and teeth. _This is going to be_ fun.

Arcadia, down below, placed her moist fingers upon the door handle, eyes intense. _What am I doing here? The Nine hasn't done anything for me. I don't even worship them._

She looked up into the sky, unaware of the shadow watching her from the rooftops. _I don't belong here._

Her hand freed itself from the handle, feet struggling to move, the nonexistent hands of the dead gripping at her legs. _I need to find….someone…_

The sun had slowly shifted positions, casting light upon pale, ungloved skin. Lucien snatched his hand away and into shadow, cursing underneath his breath; sunlight was the enemy.

From the rooftops, he saw the girl shy away from the Chapel, entering the crowd of humans that passed the massive doors.

_So she denies the Nine Devines her redemption?_

Lips were licked once again, hands thrust into pocket and boots clattering against shingles as he walked, _There is hope yet._

And as he lurked, he watched. A finely dressed citizen came into view, nose held high, strutting past the girl as if her existence mattered not, purse within reach; her hand, out of habit, grabbed for the thing. She yanked it back as if she'd been burnt, walking briskly away from the man, fist clenched, still sweating profusely.

Despite sensing the Dunmer's conscience brewing inside her head, the grin did not falter. _But she's still a good girl, _he thought, deep chuckle filling the silence in the morning air, _But that will soon be over._

He lowered his head, hood draping over his dark irises, lips gleaming with moisture. _Fun_ indeed.

* * *

_Yeah, filler. You have permission to kill me. While nothing particularly exciting happened, this does give you all a better sense of Arcadia's guilt and overall character, and Lucien's...well, Lucien's...his..._awesomeness.


End file.
